


Saturday Night Wonder

by wormghoul



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Drag Shows, M/M, likely inaccurate, whoops I gave it feelings, y'all are getting hot pants barba AND hot pants carisi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 17:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15175481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wormghoul/pseuds/wormghoul
Summary: Carisi was used to celebrating without the squad, and usually he could convince himself that it was alright. Tonight was one of those nights where it was okay that he was alone, because after all, who would have wanted to go with him to a drag show?





	Saturday Night Wonder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatfandomkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatfandomkid/gifts).



Dominick “Sonny” “Aging Twink” Carisi Jr had unsurprisingly found himself celebrating alone at gay bar late on a Saturday night. The case, like all others, like every case in perpetuity, was rough, but they won. The squad had wrapped up it nicely and sent it to Barba who’d tied it squarely with a bow and summarily launched the scumbag of the week into prison for a long time. They should be at Forlini’s or some cop bar drinking, but Liv and Amanda had children now, Barba shoved off the invitation, and Fin...well, Fin was “getting too old for that shit, no offense, Carisi”. The end of that thought brought him back to present, where he was sitting at the bar, holding onto a lukewarm IPA waiting for a drag show to start.

The bar had advertised the night as an ametuer night and a debut for the newest members of one of New York’s more well known drag families. Not that Sonny knew how drag families worked, really. The poster had just called them the cousins of Drag Royalty, so he figured he’d at least enjoy the show and get to spend a few hours cheering and showering queens in the little spare cash he had. As the lights around the stage dimmed and the music swelled, Sonny took another swallow from his glass and tried to smile. _You’re going to enjoy yourself if it fucking kills you,_ he thought to himself, scolding the little part of him that was still upset that he was alone. Who else would have really wanted to come with him tonight? He couldn’t picture Olivia and Fin here, no, they were real adults; the kind that had a job and a mortgage and no business being in a gay bar anyways. Amanda, on the other hand, might enjoy the novelty, but then again, she was headed straight into adultsville with the rest of the squad. The only person left was Rafael Barba, who wasn’t per se a squad member, but hell, he was close enough. Now, imagining Barba here, sitting next to him at the bar set Sonny stuttering laughter through his mouthful of beer, trying not to choke.

The intro music to the show drowned out his awful sputtering noises as he reached for a few handfuls of paper napkins to dab at the mess dripping down his chin. It only got worse as he imagined Barba dressed in stupidly expensive designer jeans and an unbuttoned dress shirt complaining about the shitty scotch. In his mind he liked to imagine that Barba was gay, since no straight man really dressed that nicely.  But in reality, the fancy ass ADA was probably straighter than an arrow and would likely complain more.

...Damn. He actually wouldn’t mind that. They had an easy repertoire of banter. Sure, it was Barba razzing on him two thirds of the time, but it was still fun and good natured, _usually_.

The annoucer started listing off names of the ametuer queens who would perform first, thankfully and forcibly stopping Sonny from thinking any further, which would likely just spiral into thinking about his ill aligned feelings for the man. It was inappropriate. Completely unprofessional. It was just Sonny misinterpreting the way Barba always seemed to brighten when they got into a really good back and forth. It was just -- Sonny shook his head and finished his beer, ever so gently placing the glass back on the bartop in an exercise of minute control before he waved the bartender over and ordered a boilermaker. The second he downed the whiskey shot, the bar around him erupted into cheers and hollering as the first notes of the gay classic, Brittany’s _Toxic_ filtered through the PA. Grabbing the new beer, Sonny made his way towards the stage to get a better view.

The stage was lit in neon blues and pinks, with each beam of light glittering off of the hundreds of crystals and sequins that bedecked each of the three ameteur queens as they bounced in sync, keeping time as a spotlight swiveled over each of them as they were introduced.

“Now remember, if you love ‘em, cheer. But if they’re awful, please, god, don’t encourage them,” crooned the announcer before Brittany and the girls took over and gave an impassioned performance. To their credit, they were all good. One queen, whose name Sonny couldn’t remember, actually had a few sparklers she set off during her solo. The crowd screamed as she lifted her arms and spun, sparking and shining in an emerald dress. And for a moment, nothing else in the world was as green as her, beaming that she was “too high, can’t come down”. The interlude saw the expected death drops and tricks, but throughout the rest of the song, Sonny couldn’t keep his eyes off the queen in the emerald gown.

She was a powerful force on stage, commanding the attention of the audience as she drank in the bright light of the spotlight like she deserved it. Before he knew it, Sonny had gravitated towards the front of the stage like a man possessed. He wasn’t even thinking about Barba anymore, in his mind it was just _her_ as she danced and sang, letting everything else fall away. If this were a movie, this was the moment where the music would soften and a warm vignette would envelope them, encouraging them to step out from the scene and into electric darkness. But of course this wasn’t a movie. This was Sonny chasing his loneliness at a gay bar half way across town after being all but stood up. So instead, the song ended and the illusion was shattered like the glass he’d wanted to slam into the bartop earlier. After the gratuitous clapping stilled and the queens picked up the cash flung onstage, the PA crackled to life again and introduced tonight’s host and mother to the new debutantes. The queen in the emerald gown sauntered off stage and Sonny followed with his eyes until the curtain fluttered shut. Reluctantly, he refocused on the mainstage.

“Please, everyone, give a fair and just welcome to the lovely Miss Dee Meanor”

Miss Dee Meanor...Miss Demeanor... _misdemean-oh my god._ Sonny stifled a laugh at the realization. He knew plenty of queens chose puns for names, but the only ones likely to pick that one were either criminals or cops, and he wasn’t sure which would be better. He always thought that Jake from the 99 would look great in a dress, and he wondered if he’d get the chance to see it tonight. The lights of the bar dropped dramatically, leaving a single spotlight on stage pointed at the slowly parting curtains. The figure that was revealed was the wrong proportions to be Peralta, even in drag, so he took a sip of his beer to quell the smidge of disappointment. The figure wasn’t quite tall enough, and was built a little more solidly. Shamelessly, Sonny tried to picture his brothers in blue, shuffling through them trying to match the silhouette as it walked out into the light. The closer Miss Dee walked though, Sonny noticed that it couldn’t possibly be any of the cops he knew. This was affirmed the moment she took center stage.

Sonny’s eyebrows shot to the top of his head as who he was pretty sure could be _Rafael actual fucking Barba_ slid out onto the stage in a svelte dress and five inch heels to the sound of roaring cheers. He choked on the mouthful of beer he’d been holding after his whole body stopped functioning in shock. Covering his cough in the sleeve of his shirt, Sonny shot nervous eyes back at the bar, trying to estimate the amount of possible coverage offered by the thickening crowd. He was now seriously regretting having shifted to far towards the stage. Treacherously, his throat itched and demanded he drink something, so he lifted his drink shakily to his mouth and sipped oh so slowly, never taking his eyes off Miss Dee as she gave a little strut down the catwalk, showing off the sparkling black number as it glittered under the party lights.

Sonny had spent so much time staring at Barba, even memorizing his sometimes austere features, that he hoped he could identify the man underneath a brilliant cat eye and a blinding highlight. The dress she was wearing was sinfully tight and short enough to show off an impressive set of legs. God help him, but that was the definitive feature that had Sonny convinced he was staring at his ADA. The same ADA who had blown him off because he had “far better things to do” tonight. God forbid Sonny be allowed a moment of grace, because he choked again on the beer he didn’t realize he was practically guzzling. Even worse, Miss Dee had made it to the part of the stage directly in front of him and took notice of his peril. 

“I know it’s kind of an ameutur show tonight, but look at this guy, it’s like he’s never seen a beautiful woman before!” she jabbed an arm in his direction and Sonny wanted to melt into the ground.

 _Fuck. Oh fucking shit._ That was definitely Rafael Barba in hip pads and thigh highs and a dress that flowed and shone like black gold. The crowd laughed and Sonny continued coughing into his sleeve, praying to whatever God was listening that the fact his face was turned towards the bar kept his identity obscured. Sonny cut through the crowd, which helpfully parted like butter at his approach, running towards the safety of another shot or three of whiskey.

“Oh no, we’ve scared the poor thing away! Oh well! There’s a spot open near the front now, reserved exclusively for those with bigger... _wallets_ than his!”

Oh Jesus. Not only was that Barba, but Barba knew that it was him. He figured he should be indignant about the joke on his behalf, but he also figured he wouldn’t care in about thirty seconds once the double shot he just took kicked in.

-

An hour and half plus an order of shitty french fries later, Sonny was back to just buzzed again. Barba’s set was thankfully over as well, and it was now time for the queens from earlier to come back out to perform a closer with the debutantes. The emerald dress was back, but the flame from earlier did not return. Sonny had to wonder why. He had to wonder a lot of things actually. Why did he stay at the bar? He could have gotten in a cab and gone home to forget or to endlessly, drunkenly, draft non disclosure emails to send to Barba in the morning. He could have gotten wasted at the bar instead of making the decision to sober up to a decent degree. A thousand questions swirled in his head, turning his hair greyer, as Sonny watched the emerald queen dance in the reflection of the mirror behind the bar. She spun and shimmied as gracefully as before, but there was no spark left. Staring down at the nubby remnants of his fries, Sonny wondered if he’d wanted her to be Barba.

He knew it wasn’t, after all, she was far too pale and lithe. But it was a strange, half fantasy seen through the lens of endless, improbable possibility. For a moment, there was a connection, however fake, between Sonny and the emerald queen that was unhampered by expectations. It was golden and it flowed around him, making him feel light; he could stare and want and be enraptured by the same characteristics that drew him to Rafael Barba, just, without the weight of guilt and self denial. As the final chorus played out, Sonny turned on his barstool to watch the finale. All the girls stood proud and marvelous, mouthing along to the words of a power ballad Sonny couldn’t hear over the questions still bubbling around in his brain and turning his stomach. Then the song ended. He watched them glitter and bow as the illusion ended and they withdrew backstage as the usual dj settled into place and played them off. Everyone was thanked for coming and reminded again to tip the queens. Sonny stood up to leave, this was his cue after all.

“If you stay, the next round’s on me, Carisi.”

The offer came softly from beside him, where Barba was pulling up a chair. He was nearly out of drag, save some of the more persistent attributes, like the remnants of glitter around his eyes and cheekbones. And just like he’d thought, Barba was dressed in tight jeans that likely bore a designer label and a soft looking button up that was only mostly fastened. Sonny hesitated a moment before turning to sit again. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Barba’s face twisting into a half smile, not unlike the smirks he unleashed when he knew he’d won an argument.

“What are you drinking?” Barba asked, as though he didn’t know the answer was “some god awful craft beer” both from habit and his choking performance earlier.

“I wasn’t anymore,” Sonny sighed, making eye contact with Barba as he accepted his regular three fingers of scotch from the bartender. Barba took a sip of his drink and made some sort of hand motion to the bartender, who poured a matching glass for Sonny. He didn’t catch the label on the bottle it was poured from, but knowing Barba, the bottle cost more than Sonny’s first suit. Granted, his first suit was off the rack of a department store, but the point still stood. The two men raised their glasses and gave a weak cheers, facing away afterwards to take a sip. It went down smoothly, surely in a similar way to the fine fabric of Barba’s dress as it pooled on the floor of his dressing room backstage. _Shit_. Sonny colored in the face, abruptly answering the question of why he’d stopped drinking in the first place. The illusion was over. Implications of impropriety swirled in his glass along with the ice, which reached out and froze the space between the two men as both sat there tongue tied.

It was a strange picture, given that this wasn’t exactly Forlini’s. It wasn’t a quiet bar. As they sat and contemplated the next move, Lady Gaga bumped in the background, and someone was likely getting their dick sucked in the handicap stall of the bathroom.

“I’m not saying nothin, I promise,” Sonny ventured first, watching as Barba rubbed at the condensation on the outside of his glass. His mouth twisted up again into that thing that wasn’t quite a smirk and definitely wasn’t a smile.

“Olivia knows, she was supposed to come tonight, but Lucy cancelled,” Barba rebutted, as if Sonny’s promise of confidentiality meant nothing. Barba’s...hobby? side hustle? whatever it was, certainly wasn’t an open secret, at least as far as Sonny knew. So he just huffed and took another sip of the scotch, letting the burn come from the alcohol, rather than self flagellation at his dismissal. On the brightside, though, it meant that Sonny had avoided seeing his Lieutenant while he was dressed in tight pants and a provocatively cut shirt.  

“That’s not to say I don’t value your discretion,” Barba added on with a wave of his hand. “On the contrary, I appreciate it, and I hope you know it’s reciprocated.”

“If that means what I think it does, please, I’m begging you not to tell the Lieu.” Sonny could only imagine what would happen. Sure, he was out, but he wasn’t out-out. And he’d invited the squad out for drinks earlier, before he found this place online. He’d hate to see her make a wrong connection between the two events. He’d hate even more to see the fallout, considering he always felt like he still already had one foot out the door, even now, a year later.  

“It means not a word. To anyone.” Barba hummed. Quiet, or what passed for it, settled down again between the pair for a moment before he continued. “You know, I told my girls I had somewhere else important to be tonight, and, you can see why I’ve been so busy these past few weeks, so I figure I owe you a few drinks, to make up for blowing you off.” Barba paused as a rare shadow of uncertainty moved across his brow. “That is, only if you want to. If you want as well, this can end right here, too. And I’ll still not say a word. It’s not conditional, Carisi.”  

If Sonny didn’t know Barba as well as he did, he wouldn’t have picked up on the hint of nervousness in his voice. It was soft and yielding, a complete contrast to the typical Barba schtick of all confidence, all the time. His emerald eyes were soft as he looked at Sonny with an open and earnest face, searching his eyes for an answer Sonny hadn’t decided on yet. It wasn’t conditional, he’d said. Sonny knew Barba was not one to mince words, his promise was implied to be unconditional from the first time it was uttered, so this was a different kind of promise. It was the kind that acknowledged the weight that rested in the still professional distance between the men. All of those feelings from before, the worry, the self deprecation, the uneasy feeling of having feelings for a straight man, they flew away. Sonny wasn’t exactly about to take flight yet or run a victory lap, but he had a hint, a small clue that a) Barba wasn’t straight and b) he hadn’t misinterpreted those looks and their banter. Suddenly everything clicked together. Was it still bordering on the unprofessional? Yes. But was it an empty dream? Not anymore. As Sonny spun his wheels, Barba coughed and sipped his drink again, and Sonny almost physically felt him prickle, worried he’d been rejected.

“I’d like that, counsellor. Very much.” Sonny smiled at Barba, who returned the gesture in kind with a different kind of sparkle in his eyes.  

“Please,” he said, standing and motioning towards the exit, “Call me Rafael.”  Sonny smirked.

“Only if you call me Sonny,” he countered, still smiling. Rafael’s face fell slightly.

“On second thought...” he mused, acting as though he was about to change his mind about asking Sonny out to drinks, even though his hand was resting warmly on Sonny’s back.

Sonny just laughed and followed Rafael’s lead out into the electric darkness that was Manhattan on a Saturday night, a city come alive with boundless improbable possibilities, waiting to be seized.  

**Author's Note:**

> you betcha it only took me like 3 months bitch (˶◕‿◕˶✿)


End file.
